


Cell Block Alpha

by Entropyrose



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: A/B/O Universe, Alpha!Steve, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Implied Mpreg, Lactation Kink, M/M, Male Lactation, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Harassment, omega!BuckyBarnes, vebal harrassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 06:42:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8738737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entropyrose/pseuds/Entropyrose
Summary: Oak Bridges Correctional Facility houses an Alpha-Only inmate population, controlled by an Alpha-Only Correctional Team. When one James Buchanan Barnes decides to break the mold and joins as the first-ever Omega Corrections Officer, Captain Steve Rogers has a lot of trouble on his hands...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_hemmen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_hemmen/gifts).



> No Non-con in this first chapter. But A/B/O Universes can get squicky, so the trope is kind of warning in itself. 
> 
> Inspired by the AMAZING a_hemmen, whose own A/B/O works of fiction inspired me to write my first-ever A/B/O Stucky!

*Steve*

 

He shoves the door open without knocking. Frankly, right now he could give a shit less about propriety, especially seeing as his place of employment _obviously_ has forgotten their own basic decency. “Warden, we need to talk.”

 

The Warden sits at a desk piled high with new intake forms and inmate complaints and rubs the space between his eyes as his officer enters. It’s clear he was already in the middle of something—his secretary turns towards him, her mouth gaping open mid-sentence—but Steve ignores that fact and marches up beside her, towering over her tiny form.

 

“Not now, Rogers.” The Warden waves a dismissive hand and Steve clamps his on the desk, leaning over, his blue eyes burning into his superior’s.

 

“Yes,” he huffs out. “Now!”

 

The Warden is white-haired and leather-skinned, but time has yet to take away the stoic tenacity of his other features—a hard-set jaw, blocky eyebrows, and a chiseled nose. He raises his face to meet Steve’s, and without breaking eye contact, says, “That will be all, Matilda.”

 

The little secretary can’t seem to leave fast enough, her spiked heels clacking as she escapes down the hallway.

 

“What the hell, Rogers?” The Warden is standing now, too, and he is tall and broad-shouldered and doesn’t give an inch to his stubborn subordinate.

 

“An Omega?,” Rogers blurts out as the door swings shut. “Really?”

 

The Warden straightens up, adjusting the hem of his black suit. “You’re speaking of James Barnes, I presume.”

 

“Okay, fine, if that’s his name. But an _Omega_ , sir? _Really?_ ”

 

“I’m honestly surprised that it would bother you so much, Captain. What is your primary concern, here?”

 

His primary concern? _His primary concern?_ Steve’s brain scrambles to latch on to just _one_ of the many problems having an Omega on his squad will cause. There is a cast system for a _reason_ , as much as Steve values equality and equal opportunity, and having an Omega officer in a prison full of Alphas is inviting trouble in through the front door—the kind of trouble that could be devastating, of not deadly, to all involved. “I am not about to send an Officer— _my_ Officer—down those halls to get—to get assaulted and possibly killed by a pack of rut-addled Convicts!”

“I understand, Captain, I do.” The Warden’s features relax a little, the tension easing in his shoulders. “But there have been strenuous guidelines put in place to ensure workforce equality. And I can’t have the ACAU breathing down my neck just because I _think_ I might be placing an Omega in danger.”

 

“It’s not just that and you know it!” Steve brings his hand down on a stack of papers with a resounding ‘thwack’, to get his point across. “You have put us all in danger, here!”

 

“Mr. Barnes has been placed on suppressants. He has the highest level of training. He graduated from the—“

 

“I don’t care if he was a damned Navy Seal! You know the risks we are taking in having a corrections officer who is capable of throwing the inmates into mass hysteria.”

 

“Now, that is an assumption based soully upon his reproductive biology and not—“

 

“You sound just like them,” Steve retorts.

 

“Captain, my hands are tied, here! If you want to lodge a complaint, you can file it formally. Matilda will get you the paperwork on the way out. Until then, you are to show Officer Barnes equal respect and treatment. Am I understood?”

 

Steve turns on the thick black heel of his boot and clears the distance to the door in two quick strides.

 

“Captain Rogers. I said AM I UNDERSTOOD?”

 

Steve turns just long enough to throw him a mock-salute. “Yes, sir,” he growls under his breath and slams the heavy wooden door behind him.

 

Poor little Matilda, the only other Omega in the compound, cowers behind a computer that weighs more than she does. Her startled eyes follow him out the office and down the secured-glass walls until he disappears from her sight.

 

* * * * *

 

He doesn’t look like an Omega. But it’s one of those things you really can’t hide. You don’t have to put it on your resume or check a box on a questionnaire or pin it on your chest for people to know just exactly *what* you are. Even with the suppressants, he smells like a gift-wrapped carton of truffles in every flavor imaginable—deep dark chocolate, dew-drenched raspberries, salted burbon carmel.

 

Steve swallows as the dark-haired officer makes his way to Steve’s desk. Okay, so it is everybody’s desk. It acts as a primary call center for the Tower guards and second and third shift. Steve is meticulously scrubbing out the coffee rings and globs of jelly when he enters. The dark-haired newcomer raises an eyebrow as he looks down over Steve’s hunched form, but if he is thinking about what a strangely servant-like act this is for an Alpha, he is smart enough to keep his mouth shut about it. Despite the air of superiority written all across the guy’s face (one that Steve instantly despises) , Steve finds himself having to consciously peel his gaze away from his haunting, marble-green eyes. “You Rogers?,” he asks.

 

Steve’s hackles prickle. “ _Captain_ Rogers,” he corrects. “Yeah.”

 

His face is surrealistically pretty—pale freckles skitter across his high cheekbones. A few tendrils of his cinnamon-brown hair has escaped from the ponytail tucked beneath his high collar to fall down under the brim of his uniform cap. His mouth is turned upward into a tough-guy pout that belies the sultry lines of his pale pink cupid’s bow. He cracks a sneer. “Okay.”

 

Steve straightens his back, coming to stand easily a head taller than the defiant recruit, but if it does anything to impress him, he does a very good job of hiding it. Steve knows he can smell his alpha pheromones rising authoritatively-their scents clash mid-air. It does more than would exchanging nasty words or arm-wrestling, that’s for damn sure. The omega’s eyes flutter ever so slightly, and he takes a step back, is if remembering his place. “I’m Barnes.”

 

He doesn’t offer his hand, and that is smart. Steve wouldn’t risk shaking it anyway. The more they can do to keep to themselves, the smoother—and hopefully more normative—this transition will become. Steve thinks about the possibility of smoothing things over with a “nice to meet you”, but this is not a nice place and frankly it is NOT nice to have to meet an omega under these vacillating circumstances and if Steve had his way---

“So, when do I meet the other officers?”

 

Steve’s eyes narrow at that and he snatches the huge ring of keys from the desk. “You don’t. Not yet. First I want you to get to know the inmates.” He puts emphasis on the “get to know” them part. Usually, any new recruit would be broken in by Steve’s Lieutenant, Janey. Janey is the only other Non-Alpha guard in the entire corrections facility. She is a high-grade Beta that, despite her medium build, is a force to be reckoned with. She is also a leader-type that can reign in the unruliest of Alphas—inmates and guards alike. But Steve has several reasons for sticking close to the proverbial sore thumb of the group, today—the main reason being, aside from the obvious safety concern that a beta and omega wandering the halls would make—Steve reserves some hope that a little dip in the shark-infested waters that is the all-Alpha “Oak Bridges Correctional Facility” will ring some sense into Officer Barnes. With any luck, Steve congratulates himself, at the end of the day Officer Barnes will hand in his personal resignation and find some omega-appropriate work and forget all about his little ‘what-if’ journey into the world of Corrections.

 

“Come with me,” Steve says, opening the bullet-proof glass door, making it clear that *he* is the one calling the shots today. “Keep your arms at your sides. Say nothing. Look straight ahead. This is *your* world, now. You have to make that clear to them that you are _going_ to get respect. Demand it from them.”

 

Steve walks behind the devastatingly cute officer, fluttering his eyes closed as the decadent scent wafts up into his nostrils. The cat calls and taunting howls start at the end of the rows of cells, and even the convicts beneath and above them rattle their bars. This is nothing new—it would be seemingly standard M.O. to the non-alpha—but the intensity only builds as they continue down. Still, Steve is impressed by the slight march Officer Barnes has in his step. He looks straight ahead, eyes focus towards the end of the hallway, and as he asserts his authority, even his scent changes, morphs into a dark musk that nearly masks the Omega smell.

 

“New meat?” A lanky, tattooed arm stretches out from the bars and Barnes easily side-steps without losing focus. His movement echoes a militaristic accuracy and he continues, unfazed.

 

“Damn, Cap,” comes another voice. This one deeper and seeping with dark intent. “Is this one all for *me*? You shouldn’t have! How’d you know it was my birthday?”

 

“Keep it in your pants, Reault,” Steve barks, slamming his baton down on the bars.

 

The big bearded red-head inside lets out a deafening whistle and calls out, “Hey Cinnamon! You come back anytime, hear? I’ll knot you real good baby!” There are a dozens of jeers and roars of encouragement from the bars below and beside. The behemoth ruts against the bars, the steel groaning as his hips slam into them.

 

“I said ENOUGH!” The tall blond officer bellows, rapping the baton against his knuckles.

 

“Ohhh, Boss, sorry didn’t know he was already taken!” More laughter erupts.

 

Steve stares down the back of Barnes’ skull as they continue down the hall, honestly perplexed at what would make such a specimen of an Omega take on a shitty guard job anyway. He feels his gaze sliding down Barnes’ muscular back, to the two tight mounds of flesh that bump out of his tight uniform pants teasingly as they walk. Steve shakes his head to clear his mind. He is nowhere near in rut, but the delightful mix of spice and coco beans has his pants getting tighter and is awakening his every primal urge and thought. A lump forms in his throat as they reach the end of the corridor. It takes him a few moments to work up enough moisture in his parched throat to swallow it down.

 

“I know what game you’re trying to play with me,” Barnes says with a growl. He whips around as soon as they are no longer within ear-shot, those haunting green eyes burning into Steve’s. “And I’m gonna tell you right now you can cut the shit.”

 

Steve’s eyes flutter indignantly. “What?”

 

“I have been in law enforcement for nearly 15 years. What you’re showing me is nothing new, alright? Nothing I haven’t seen before. So with all due respect, “ _Sir”_ , you can cut the fucking act.”

 

Steve hadn’t realized until just that moment that his jaw is open. He snaps it shut, eyes blazing hot. He nods his head, his tongue flicking out to wet the pink of his lips.

 

Barnes’ eyes slide closed, but not fast enough so that Steve misses it.

 

“You’ve got it all figure out, huh?” Steve nods, as if answering his own question, searching his new recruit’s face. “Alright. Okay, yeah. Let’s head to the yard, Officer Barnes. I want to see if that confidence of yours holds up when the wolves are _outside_ their pen.”

 

* * * * *

 

*Bucky*              

 

His parents didn’t raise any ordinary Omega—He had three sisters, two Alphas and one Beta—and for the majority of his youth everyone was convinced he was going to present as an Alpha. His first heat came when he was just fourteen—he locked himself in the bathroom with his mother’s hairbrush and hated himself for every heat after that. He was able to hide it until the beginning year of college—the Alphas in his town tended to present later than the Betas or Omegas did, and thus there really wasn’t anybody around to *smell* his biological imperative.

 

He was raised as an Alpha, and goddamn it he is going to *stay* an Alpha if it kills him. He balls his fists and pushes past the scowling guards, his superior hot on his heels. It doesn’t take long for the inmates to start congregating around him like hornets to a bonfire. He telescopes the baton with a flick of his wrist and keeps his chin high, knowing that if they’re not close enough they won’t be able to scent him out.

 

“Hey, Boss,” a seemingly mild-mannered male in a hoodie sashays around him, neck crooked as if feeling him out. “You’re a new one, yeah?”

 

“Yeah I am,” Barnes mutters, nodding his head in the direction of the bleachers. “Looks like your buddies are looking for you.”

 

“No, Boss,” the guy mutters, shaking his head and staring at him creepily. “No, they lookin’ at you.”

 

Bucky feels a lump growing in his throat and swallows it down. _Get ahold of yourself, Barnes. You’ve been here before. This is nothing new. Same old rodeo. The only difference is that these criminals are on the inside._

“Move along,” the blonde Captain orders from behind him, swishing his baton around as if it’s a torch and he can somehow stave off the onslaught of prying eyes.

 

“You’re not helping,” Bucky mutters, low enough so that only Steve can hear it. “I know you think you are but you’re not.” Bucky really has to wonder just how many Omegas this guy has been around. Judging from his actions, not many. While his superior is busy trying to fend off the convicts, his gestures only serve to mark out territory—he may as well be holding a “no-trespassing” sign above Bucky’s head, claiming his property. The air is becoming thick with Alpha smell and it is assaulting Bucky’s nose.

 

“I don’t think you understand,” The Captain grinds out between his teeth, his eyes roaming from side to side of the yard as hundreds of footsteps grow closer. “If I wasn’t here right now, they’d eat you alive.”

 

Bucky raises an eyebrow, tossing a look at him behind his shoulder. “Wanna test that out?”

 

Steve’s chest puffs out, and just as he is about to lecture the insubordinate Omega, a fellow officer come trotting up. “Hi,” He says, presenting his hand.

 

Bucky warily shakes it.

 

“I’m Cohen. You must be James—er—James Barnes?”

 

“Yeah I am.”

 

“Welcome aboard!” His friendly slap on the back startles Bucky, but he notices the confused looks of the inmates as they begin to back off. “Oh. Wow. My…Wow…you smell great.”

 

Bucky feels his face flush.

 

Cohen seems to have regained his senses long enough to have realized he’s making an ass of himself and glances around the yard. “So, has the Captain given you the grand tour yet?”

 

“That’s what we were just in the middle of,” Steve interjects coolly. “And shouldn’t you be in Block J right now?”

 

“Oh yeah, well Tracy is handling it.” He wiggles his thumb dismissively—in the direction of Block J, Bucky presumes—and places his other hand on his hip. “We saw you guys heading down here on the cams, so I thought I’d come introduce myself.”

 

Steve gives him a reserved nod, and Bucky is fairly sure the Captain still has not seen the ripple-effect that the distraction has caused.  The pheromones slowly dissipate and the foggy air gives Bucky a much-needed reprieve from the clashing scents. His head is a little dizzy, but nothing he hasn’t encountered before and nothing he can’t handle.

“Welcome to Oak Bridges!” The guard chimes as he darts off, the stupid smile plastered all over his face. Bucky sighs, grateful and relieved. If only all Alphas became sheepish and punch-drunk in the presence of an Omega like that one…chances are, he is already mated.

 

Steve shows him through the shower room, the mess hall and every cell block on the off chance he may need to work them, which is a definite possibility considering the high turn-over rate of prison guards. Then it’s off to the nurses’ station for TB test, bloodwork and a few vaccines.

 

Steve is very pretty, as Alphas go, and smells even better than he looks. Bucky is careful not to venture too close. As far as he can see, the only place where this really becomes a problem is employee locker room. The hundreds of rows of tall steel cabinets creates a vortex of smells, and Steve’s scent is more heady than the rest—it rolls off his chest and down his back as he peels off the uniform at end-of-shift. He catches Bucky staring before Bucky even notices it himself, pausing mid-pull. “Sorry,” he mutters.

 

“Huh? No. It’s ...it’s fine.” Bucky is staring at the inside of his locker, now, swallowing hard as a sudden wave of pleasure ribs over him. He double-checks his quantity of heat suppressants before shoving them into his duffel bag and escaping out the door.

 

“Hey Barnes,” Steve calls after him. Bucky freezes in the doorway. “Good work today.”

 

Bucky nods, afraid that daring to flash him a smile would be a gamble he couldn’t afford, and the door swings shut behind him.

 

* * * * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crystalline eyes are back on Bucky, in so sudden a flash that Bucky almost jumps. It may be the medicine messing with him, it may be the pain like hot spikes driving into his flesh, but Bucky thinks—for just a moment—that the strange expression crossing the Captain’s face might be… concern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lil bit of violence. Very creepy. You have been warned ; )

*Bucky*

 

“You’re up, Reault.” The big bearded Alpha stalks up to him, a little less intimidating now that he is completely naked. Being stripped of even one’s most basic human necessities really brings out the _humble_ in people.

“This is Bullshit!,” He roars, throwing his head to glare at Bucky’s partner, who leans against the shower wall, thumbs in his thick black belt, an entertained smirk on his face.

 

His partner’s name is Sam, and Bucky already has decided that he likes Sam. Sam is a happily bonded 32-year old Air Force vet with three pups and a very low prey drive. Sam says that after number three, the urge to procreate waned for him, so they haven’t had many problems working together. His soft, golden-brown eyes belie the fact that he can—and has—laid a man flat in under three seconds. Sam shrugs and taps his watch. “Come on, Reault, we don’t have all day.”

 

Reault is huffing now, blowing out his chest as a bight glow of red spreads down his freckled chest and up his round face. “Naw. No way, man. Not for him.”

 

Bucky can’t hold back a satisfied grin as he snaps the blue glove on. “Come on, big boy. I’ll go gentle.”

 

The line of prisoners behind him are completely silent—for one thing, they’re too intrigued to see the outcome of this predicament and for another, they know they are next.

 

Reault lunges with a roar, and Bucky slams his head into the wall with a resonant “CRACK” and holds him there.

 

 “STAY DOWN!”

 

The string of blood that oozes from Reault’s head is warning enough and Bucky circles around him to complete the task at hand.  Bucky would be lying if he said it didn’t feel a little bit like revenge—a big, smelly Alpha with his ass laid bare in front of him. He forces Reault’s clenched cheeks apart and listens to him groan. If he decides to turn this into a fight, now’d be the time. Bucky doesn’t give him the chance to decide, straightening two gloved fingers and forcing them inside.

 

He has to bite down on his inner lip to keep from smiling as the guy growls beneath him. It’s a subdued sound, one that Bucky knows he is fighting hard not to make—it would show weakness. And Bucky knows that the redhead is one of the top Alphas here.

 

Bucky supposes it’s not fair—after all, out in the field he was never allowed to search Alphas. Alphas, by law, are to be searched only by other Alphas. And Omegas by Omegas, Betas by Betas, and so on. If only he had clocked the hours it sometimes took to find an available officer of the matching reproductive status…he imagines the Department lost thousands of hours of manpower just bending to this rule, all so that Alphas wouldn’t  have their authority “threatened”. Bucky sneers at that, and jabs his straightened fingers in a little further just because he _can._

“Fuck---!!!” Finally, the readhead breaks, shifting away from the wall and swinging his massive arm. Bucky sees his fist just in time to duck, and Reault hits the tile. Bucky lands his boot on his back, being sure to leave a nice red impression of a rubber heel. Sam flies off the wall, baton at the ready, but Bucky flashes him a confident nod.

 

“I got this,” he mutters. He hauls the behemoth off the floor, slinging a zip-tie around his wrists and pulling it tight. “Ya feel smart now, Reault? You just earned yourself a stint in Solitary.”

 

“Fuck you, Cinnamon,” Reault growls. He is turned just enough so that his green eyes glare murderously down into Bucky’s, and Bucky has to steel himself against the icy wave of regret he feels crawling up his spine. “You’re going to get it now,” he chuckles, even as Bucky punches his shoulder, facing him forward.

 

“Keep it up, Reault,” he says in the most Alpha tone he can muster. He nods back at Sam, who raps his baton against the cement wall as he turns to the line of bewildered inmates.

 

“Back in line, ladies!”  

 

Bucky swallows hard as he leads the tall red-head to a dressing station and lets one of the other guards get him suited back up. He leans against a far wall, snapping the dirty glove off and tossing it in the waste-bin.

 

“You feel good, boss?” Reault is shoved onto a bench as the other officer gathers his clothes. Bucky doesn’t have to look at him to know Reault is addressing him.

 

“You’re with me, now. Don’t look at him.” The officer kneels in front of Reault, sliding each leg of his pants on and shoving the orange flip-flops on his feet.

 

“You feel pretty good, yeah?”

 

Bucky folds his arms in front of his chest and flexes his jaw.

 

“Feel like a big man?”

 

“Reault,” the other guard warns.

 

“I’m coming for you, Cinnamon. Me and my buddies.”

 

Bucky can’t help himself. “Buddies? I thought you were a tough-guy, Reault.”

 

“Don’t—“ The other guard probably wanted to warn against egging the red-headed monstrosity on, but Bucky is waaay past that, now. He is going to shut this shit down.

 

“Come on Freckles, you can’t handle one little Omega by yourself?”

 

“Barnes—“

 

“Ohhh I’m gonna knot you good, you little bitch…” There is a guttural rumble ebbing up from Reault’s chest, and he is perched on the very edge of the bench, his eyes locked on Bucky, unblinking.

 

“Ooooh, Promises.” Bucky shudders mockingly and spits into the trash can. “Keep it comin’ Reault, You steaming bag of shit.”

 

What happens next, happens in a matter of seconds. But it breaks down slowly in Bucky’s brain the way the driver of a Honda Civic would if a Mac-Truck were barreling straight towards it. Reault’s eyes are burning into Bucky’s, their faces mere centimeters apart. Within a flash, Reault’s face is gone, replaced by his straggled head of hair as he buries his mouth into Bucky’s collar.

 

Bucky feels the hot sting that spreads up and down his neck before reacting. His hands go up into Reault’s hair, pulling him off, a string of blood flying between them and smattering against the wall. The fellow guard is at Reault’s back, and the bright flash of blue sparking over his shoulder, the hiss of electricity and the smell of burning flesh assaulting Bucky’s senses. He tumbles backwards, his ass hitting the floor, before the world returns to normal speed.

 

“WE NEED BACKUP!” The officer yells, punching the button on the wall that will lock down all cells. Four more officers pour in, piling on top of the roaring behemoth, his limbs thrashing out, his eyes plainly locked on Bucky.

 

Bucky lets out a shuddering breath and checks his neck. His fingers are covered in warm, oozing crimson.

 

“Get him to the nurse’s station,” The first guard spits, obvious disdain coating his words.

 

Bucky is helped up—he is too shaken to tell by whom—and is half-dragged to sick bay.

 

* * * * *

 

The scent is worse than the pain. The wound smells of rust and motor oil, and Bucky has to turn his head to escape it. “Fucking Christ,” He growls into the hospital-grade pillow.

 

“James, I need you to hold still.” The nurse preps a needle above him as he writhes under the hot examination lights.  

 

“What’s that for?”

 

“This is a cocktail,” she explains, gripping his wrist and pulling it to her side of the gurney. He gets the hint and reluctantly rolls back onto his back, squinting into the light pouring down from the ceiling. “It’s going to flush your system and keep you from contracting any possible infections.”

 

Bucky grunts, forcing himself to stay put as the needle goes in.  A fragrance like battery acid hits him right under the nose and has his stomach doing flip-flops.  He grimaces. “Got anything for the smell?”

 

She shakes her head. “Unfortunately, no. As you can imagine, we don’t get many Omegas around here.”

 

“Whatever.”, he mutters. It fucking figures.

 

Captain Rogers bursts in, a heroic hand perched authoritatively on his holster, and the picture he makes has Bucky snickering in spite of himself. If only the guy knew what a living, breathing caricature he looked like. The Captain ignores him (of course he does—Bucky is so far “beneath’ him). “You want to tell me how this happened, Barnes?”

 

Bucky pauses his giggling just long enough to wiggle a finger at him. “I gotta ask you something first, Captain, sir. Does your hair always look that perfect or do you have to spray it on in the morning?”

 

“You’re not funny, Barnes. And you will answer my question.”

 

The cool blue eyes staring into Bucky’s almost make the smart-ass want to comply. They are so pristine and perfect and the angelic forces radiating off of his unnaturally wide shoulders have Bucky swallowing his smirk. His lips part as he waits for words to come.  

 

“God,” Steve’s elbow goes to his face, shielding himself from the onslaught of the musk from the other Alpha. Just like that, the spell is broken and Bucky wrinkles his nose as he is suddenly reminded of just how rancid he smells.

 

He scrubs the back of his head. “Yeah…tell me about it.”

 

“Captain, I’m going to ask you to leave. Mr. Barnes needs rest. He’s about to go into detox, and will be in no position to report.”

 

“Bretton and Chauncey are saying you taunted him. Is that true?”

 

“Captain, please---“

 

Bucky raises a hand. “S’okay. I don’t mind.”

 

“You’re goddamn right you don’t,” The Captain murmurs in response.

 

Bucky can feel the cold tingle of the serum as it spreads through his organs and skitters up his spine. He swallows dryly, rolling his head back to the pillow as a throbbing migraine prods its way into his head. “Reault was being non-compliant during a routine body cavity search. I detained him, took him to the changing pod and let the others take over.”

 

Steve’s tongue flicks over his lips impatiently, and the Omega in Bucky does little cartwheels in his stomach. It is obvious he still smells the other alpha, because he wrinkles his nose and puffs out his chest defensively. “Then what, Barnes? What pushed him over the edge?”

 

“He kept it up, Cap.” Bucky takes a sharp breath in and raises a hand over his head, attempting to get into a position that will lessen the burning sensation on his skin.

 

The Captain’s next question is for the nurse. “When will he be able to get back on the floor?”

 

The nurse shrugs and bites down on her inner lip. It’s a move that only Bucky sees, and it is obvious she is holding back the urge to absolutely light into the Captain. “You haven’t even given us the time to perform vitals, let alone assess the damage done to his neck,” she growls. “When we have a full understanding of his injuries, you will be notified.”

 

The crystalline eyes are back on Bucky, in so sudden a flash that Bucky almost jumps. It may be the medicine messing with him, it may be the pain like hot spikes driving into his flesh, but Bucky thinks—for just a moment—that the strange expression crossing the Captain’s face might be… concern.  The Captain looks across at the Nurse, clenching his chiseled jaw. “I will be the _first_ one you notify,” he corrects.

 

As the Captain leaves and the heavy glass door swings shut behind him, the colors of the room run down the walls and swirl together down a deep black drain.

 

* * * * *

 

_Down a long corridor, a wall of barred rooms stretches endlessly on. In the darkness, a gravelly voice sings a song that drifts through a four-inch opening and reverberates against the walls._

 

_“Cinnamon….Cinnnnammmmonnnn….I’m comin’ for ya. You’re going to be Daddy’s little Cinnamon…_

_Cinnamon……_

_Cinnamon…..”_

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve tries to take a step forward, but his feet seem molded to the floor, and it’s at that moment that he realizes his mouth is open. It takes him a moment longer to figure out that he is waiting for words to form, words that will help form a reasonable excuse why he should stay. 
> 
> He wants to stay. 
> 
> Wants to stay, knows he shouldn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning- (imaginary) male lactation and lactation play in the form of Steve's very dirty daydream. You have been warned! :)   
> Imaginary (very graphic, very consensual) smut

*Steve*

He shouldn't be here.

He shouldn't be here, and he knows it. 

When he got the call that the new recruit was going to be sent home to ride out the rest of the detox, it was the first thing that came to his mind. Now, as Steve stares down at the sleeping face of his subordinate, Steve chews on the inside of his bottom lip and debates whether or not sliding his hips out from under Barnes' resting head will wake him. 

What was it Reault had called him? "Cinnamon"? He hadn't seen why before, really. But now, Barnes' hair is falling in tendrils across his legs. Metallic red threads dance through the chocolate waves in the dying light of the sun that streams in through the windows. 

His apartment is clean-militaristically so. The walls and counters are freshly scrubbed and smell of lemon and bleach. There are no pictures on the walls...then again, Steve recalls, the Warden said he had just moved into town. The whole place smells of him, though--a spicy and sweet scent--and suddenly he's afraid that if he so much as _breathes_ it's going to cause the slowly growing bulge in his uniform pants to fully present itself. 

Steve clears his throat before attempting to lift a hip. The couch squeaks beneath him and Barnes lets out a listless groan, his face twisting into a look of sheer agony. Once Steve decides it is safe to blow out the breath he's holding in, he settles back into the semi-firm cushions and sighs, tapping his fingers on the arm-rest. 

Barnes, on the other hand, happily smacks his lips and buries his face in Steve's lap. 

Steve winces. 

A glance to his left reveals a small cell phone and an answering machine that doesn't look like it's connected to anything. Still, the signal "1 MESSAGE" flashes in blue and Steve can't help himself. He puts the volume on the lowest setting and presses play. 

>>>Hey, Bucky. It's Sis. Just wondering how you're...settling in. Rex tells me you found work already...uhm...a Prison? Just wondering if that's really the best choice, considering...well. You make your own decisions, you always have. I just worry about you. Call me when you get this. <<<

" _Bucky_?," Steve murmurs, feeling the name roll off his tongue.

"Mmmh..." The guy called 'Bucky' stirs, and Steve freezes. With a gasp, the officer jolts awake and jerks upright, spinning to face Steve with a wide, accusatory glare. "...the FUCK?!" 

Steve's eyes flutter and he stiffens, preparing his excuse even as a warm heat spreads over his face and down his neck. "You uh...you passed out from the meds, and you didn’t have anyone on your emergency contact list. So I took you ho—“ 

“Meds…,” Bucky mutters, then sudden horrified realization dawns on his face and he springs up from the couch. “Where is my duffel?”

“Right here.” Steve gestures to the black bag lying slouched on the spotless white carpet. 

Bucky lunges for it, digging around until he finds a small yellow med bottle and lets out a huge, relieved sigh, clutching it to his chest. 

“Are—are those—?,” Steve asks stupidly. 

“You should go,” Bucky mutters, stalking into the kitchen and pouring a large glass of water without so much as a second glance at the bewildered Captain. 

“Are you sure? I mean, you’re still reeling from—?” 

“Get. OUT.” Bucky slams a pill down and drowns it in two gulps of water, striding to the door and throwing it open, wincing at the stream of light that assaults his eyes. 

Steve stands up, fighting back the anger and annoyance that prickles up his arms. “I expect a full report tomorrow morning.” 

“And you will have it.” Bucky is sweating, again, little beads that glisten on his chin and cheeks and make him look god-like even under the stress he is no doubt enduring. He leans against the open door and shivers. 

That slight show of weakness sends a sweet sting right through Steve’s pants. God, he is surrealistically beautiful and annoying and bull-headed and ungrateful and everything about him itches irritatingly against Steve’s every conscious thought…

Steve tries to take a step forward, but his feet seem molded to the floor, and it’s at that moment that he realizes his mouth is open. It takes him a moment longer to figure out that he is waiting for words to form, words that will help form a reasonable excuse why he should stay. 

He wants to stay. 

Wants to stay, knows he shouldn’t.

Bucky’s mouth opens, the shapely nude cupid’s bow parting to reveal the slick pink tongue inside. That tongue grazes against his pouty bottom lip and suddenly Steve feels too weak to move. “Please…” Bucky murmurs, as if Steve’s very presence is sapping his strength. 

“Oh. Uh…” Steve’s legs feel like jelly, but they at last detach from the carpet and he strides ever closer to the door and the cinnamon-haired Omega leaning against it. 

Reault’s smell isn’t as strong, now. The wound is patched and the blood is dry and they are surrounded by his home, his belongings…and Steve dares to take a strong sniff (as discreetly as possible) and he doesn’t smell any Alphas, here, at all. Just James…or Bucky. Two different names meaning the same sultry fragrance, only partially masked by the heavy cleaning agents. 

 

Bucky is opening like a flower, and he doesn’t even know it. 

Steve feels his erection swell and tries to hide it as he walks, brushing past Bucky because he can’t _help_ himself, can’t _help_ but want to feel the bristle of the invisible hair that covers his bicep, hear the ‘slick’ ‘slick’ sound that it makes against Steve’s uniform shirt. Inwardly, he begs Bucky for forgiveness, but the effort is well worth it and Steve walks out to his truck, the smell of chocolate truffles clinging to him. 

* * * * * 

Steve is sitting in the dark driveway of his empty house when he undoes his fly with a whimper. His dick springs forward, the interior of his pants already slick with precome. He leans back, planting his head against the leather head-rest and taking a firm hold of his cock. 

He focuses on the picture of those haunting green eyes in his head and the curve of his bulging muscles, the way his perky, arrogant ass fills out the uniform pants and the keys that bounce against his hip as he walks. 

Steve can wonder what it would be like between them—the heat, the slick, stainy feel of Bucky’s self-lubricant coating his entrance. Here, he can dream about how tight he just *knows* Bucky is and what a hard breath Steve would have to suck in as he pushed against that hubristic little hole. Bucky would let out a wine and slam a fist against the wall and _beg_ him… _beg_ to be entered…

Steve rubs furiously at himself, in no mood to prolong the venture. He is partly hoping that getting off will get the idiot Omega out of his system, out of his head at least for the night. Steve needs sleep more than he needs food, and he hasn’t eaten since he was notified of Reault’s infraction. 

His erection is so hard it is painful, the bulge at the hilt threatening to swell. Steve can feel his insides tightening, restricting the flow of the semen that wants—needs—so desperately to fly out of the end of his throbbing cock. 

He throws his shirt off with a grunt and balls it up in his face, taking a drag of the Omega’s scent like a druggie would take a hit. He slows his strokes, shoving his frustration to the back of his mind, allowing his imagination to take over. 

_ Bucky is writhing underneath of him, his long, muscular legs spread, wrapped around Steve’s waist as he thrusts up into him. Bucky is tight, hot and aching, and it almost hurts to push in, but it’s a good hurt. Steve pauses to stroke Bucky’s forehead, wiping the glittering sweat away. Bucky grins happily and wiggles him in closer as he opens to accept the very tip of Steve’s cock, and Steve grunts as he thrusts in. _

__

_ Imaginary-Bucky is a bit vocal. He bites down on Steve’s neck to muffle a pleasured moan and Steve can feel Bucky reaching between his own legs to stroke himself. Steve angles his hips to accommodate Bucky’s hands, and also to get a better view of his lover jerking himself off on Steve’s cock.  _

__

_ He moans and groans and the sounds alone are enough to bring Steve over the edge, but he wants to go slow. Wants to make it good for Bucky. Wants to remember his face and the way his eyes widen every time he thinks Steve is in all the way, only to have him push in more. Bucky is sobbing into the pillow, cinnamon hair spilling everywhere, sweat and heat and breeding scent permeating the sheets.  _

__

_ At last, Steve’s dick is buried fully in him, and Bucky’s hungry hole is sucking him in, the muscles quivering around the veiny length of his cock as he spreads his legs and comes with Steve’s name on his lips. Bucky’s come is hot and sticky as it splashes against Steve’s stomach and arms, and his ass convulses down on Steve’s cock as Steve bites and licks and pinches his pin-stiff nipples. _

Steve feels himself flush as he drags his hand downwards over Imaginary-Bucky’s stomach. 

” _Mmm…fuck yes…” Imaginary Bucky moans._

Steve draws in a shuddering breath as he peers down in his mind’s eye.

_Bucky’s stomach swells with their child, full and round and perfect. Steve imagines the taste of Bucky’s milk as it flows into his mouth, warm and sweet and silky, as he finishes off inside of his lover and his bulbous knot locks into place._

“Aaah!” Steve’s hips sail off the seat as he shudders, his stringy come flowing out in solid spurts. It splashes against the steering wheel and Steve mutters out a curse word under his breath, though his brain is so muddy even *he* doesn’t know which one. When his eyes flutter open and he slumps back against the seat, he lets out a ragged sigh and runs a thumb across his lips. “Shit,” he mumurs, and reaches for the package of wet-wipes in his glove compartment. 

He is halfway through a much-needed shower when the urge returns again, and it is a fight he doesn’t win. He gives up 40 minutes later, his exhausted body hitting the bed. 

He falls into a restless sleep with visions of a certain cinnamon-haired prison guard lying spread-eagle beneath him toying mercilessly with his brain. 


	4. Chapter 4

*Bucky*

 

 

“Reault gets out of Solitary today.” A hand clamps down on his shoulder and squeezes as he walks along the rows of cell bars. Bucky slides a look back, his eyebrows furrowing.

 

He swallows down the small knot growing in his throat and shrugs, his ponytail swatting Sam’s fingers as he marches on. “So?” He tightens his grip on his baton. “Why the fuck you tellin’ me?”

 

“James, don’t play like that. You know this guy is bad business. I just wanted to let you know.”

 

Bucky half-ignores him, rapping his wand against the bars of 402-B and calling to the prisoner inside. “Sutton, you’ve got a visitor.”

 

Sam is adamant, though, and he lowers his voice, leaning into Bucky’s far ear and murmuring, “I got your back. You know that. If you need anything…” he doesn’t finish the sentence. There is no need. As Bucky nods to the guard at the far end and the cell slides open, Sam disappears down the hallway.

 

Bucky’s shoulders relax a little, turning his attention to the task at hand. Sutton is a lanky southerner with a sleepy disposition and stringy brown hair that falls in his eyes. He is a very quiet, “not-all-there” kind of guy, which is just fine with Bucky.

 

Bucky runs a finger under the collar of his black turtle-neck that covers up his bandage. The extra fabric makes the uniform hotter than hell, and the bite mark and subsequent stitches are already beginning to heal, and it itches like crazy. The smell is dissipating, though, and that gives him a little hope that soon the guards and inmates and everyone else will stop staring so damn much.

 

The incident did one thing, though—it earned Bucky respect. Taking down one of the biggest, baddest Alphas in Block B changed the tune of most of the population. They still stare—but they sure as hell avert their eyes when he catches them. Bucky only wishes the same were true of some of the guards, here. But that will come in time (Bucky smiles to himself as he leads the prisoner down the row of cells in plastic cuffs)…it always does.

 

Sutton’s visitor is an equally long-haired Omega, though his is jet-black and runs down half his face in glossy ribbons. His one visible eye looks up sheepishly as Sutton approaches the holding cell, the last stop before being allowed to sit at the table. There are others, here, too—though it is relatively quiet. Sutton has earned himself a face-to-face meeting with his Omega, one of the rewards for good behavior and for being the informant of an internal drug-bust.

 

The kid is much shorter than his Alpha, and from the look and scent of him they have been mated for quite some time. He bats his eyelids bashfully as the bars slide open and Sutton practically skips to the table. The black-haired Omega stands up giddily, though they both share the pained look of a paired couple that can see each other but can’t touch.

 

“Hey, Baby,” Sutton flashes a wide, toothy smile, revealing the gap in his front teeth that is actually pretty adorable on him.

 

“Hi, Sweetheart,” his Omega chirps back, his long fingers bashfully weaved together in front of him.

 

Bucky wants to vomit. It’s shit like this—this fucking kid—that really pisses him off. Gives Omegas a bad rap. So fucking typical. Since the dawn of their existence, Omegas have been owning up to this manufactured lie—that they are lesser, that they are to be subservient to their Alpha. They are the “flowers of the earth”—they are to be creative and loving and nurturing and obedient in all ways to Alphas. Whatever the Alpha wants. However the Alpha wants it.

 

Fuck /that/.

 

Bucky supposes it’s not fair to pin the entire downfall of the Omega breed on one young kid. After all, it could very well be that this is just the kid’s natural personality. (But goddamn it…) At least it seems he’s got a good Alpha. Someone sweet and patient, probably a very kind lover, too…and before Bucky knows it there is a slight pink glow resting on his cheeks and he scrubs it away with the sleeve of his uniform shirt, cursing himself under his breath.

 

“Awww, ain’t they just something?”

 

Bucky feels long, knotted fingers flutter down the small of his back and give his left ass-check a squeeze. Before he can stop himself, he jumps back and veers around to glare at the usurper. “Brock, you piece of shit,” he growls.

 

It earns him a throaty chuckle from the dark Alpha. “Keep watching, kid.” Brock nods towards the adorable scene playing out across the lunch room.  He has a mile-long lewd grin on his face that Bucky want to erase with his fist. “You might learn how to please an Alpha.”

 

“ _Fuck off_ ”, Bucky hisses and Brock glowers.

 

“How’s that wound of yours healing up? The smell keeping you up at night? You know, I can help you with that.”

 

“Not even with someone else’s dick, Rumlow.” Bucky does his best to face forward and ignore the creeping sensation that works its way up his spine. Brock doesn’t seem the bit phased, though, his hand returning to rest just above Bucky’s back pocket. Bucky chews on the inside of his lip. “Oh, you really are that stupid, aren’t you?”

 

Brock’s lips are so close to his ear he can feel the heat from his breath as he snickers. “Pretend you wouldn’t like it, Barnes. Your body is practically screaming to be fucked by me.”

 

Bucky’s pants are getting tighter and he fucking hates himself for it. Despite his shitty personality, Brock possesses a welcoming aroma that curls around Bucky’s face and makes his mouth part. Freshly-dug earth…frosted lavender…clean motor oil. Bucky’s eyes flutter closed and it takes everything he has to spin out of Brock’s reach. He feels accomplished, however—he aces the move, sliding effortlessly to the other side of the bars and slamming the gate shut.

 

The black-haired Omega jumps a little at the sound.

 

Bucky hurls a wad of spit at Rumlow, one he doesn’t side-step in time. The creamy white ball of goo splatters against his shiny silver badge, and now it’s Bucky’s turn to grin. “We’ll see,” he taunts as the lock clangs shut.

 

Sure, Brock has the same set of keys, but the sound has its desired effect and now there are several other guards staring in their direction. “Omega bitch,” Brock growls under his breath. He backs off, though, striding back through the Intake gate as Bucky’s triumphant grin says plastered to his back.

 

* * * * *

 

*Steve*

 

 

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” Steve peers his head in around the thick oak door of the office. It is dark and quiet—the shades are drawn and the sun warms the fabric blinds and provides the entire room with a sense of calm.

 

“Come in, Captain.” The Warden perches his feet on the desk, hands folded in his lap as he reclines in his overstuffed leather chair.

 

Steve warily takes a seat.

 

“I wanted to ask you, in light of…recent events…how you feel things with Officer Barnes are progressing.”

 

“Uhm…fine. I guess.”

 

Steve knows that if the look on his face isn’t showing it, then the tone in his voice doesn’t convince the Warden. He clears his throat unhappily and raises an eye-brow. “Look, son. I don’t like being in this predicament any more than you do. This new Federal law requires me to introduce…diversity…in the workplace. We all have to make sacrifices. Now, as far as I have seen, Officer Barnes has held up his end of the bargain. He has been able to build a rapport with the majority of the population, and he is working in as well as can be expected with your Officers, here.”

 

“I hear a “however” coming,” Steve mutters.

The Warden sighs and runs a hand down his tired face. For the first time since Steve can remember, the Warden looks his age. “However,” he admits. “There is no doubt in my mind that it is just a matter of time before the situation becomes…out of control.”

 

 _No shit!_ “So, what are you suggesting?”

 

The Warden smacks his lips in preparation and Steve knows that whatever he is about to say next, he is not going to like it. “I need your…utmost cooperation in this, Rogers.”

 

“Utmost cooperation in what?”

 

“Reault is going to be let out of Solitary today. It’s day three and legally, I can’t hold him in there any longer. I have reports from Wilson, Bretton and Chauncey that there is an order from Reault coming down the pike. His boys are on edge. Now, later today I’m going to have you and your men perform “routine” searches in A, B and J, specifically, Reault’s associates. You need to report back to me the slightest anomaly, anything out of the ordinary. I mean /anything/.”

 

“Okay, sure,” Steve says, not comprehending the big kicker. “But…what does this have to do with Buck—er—Barnes?”

 

“From what I understand the wound to James’ neck was some kind of…scent marking?”

 

Steve nods reluctantly.

 

The Warden purses his lips in thought. “I’m going to need you to partner up with James.”

 

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Sure.” _That’s it? That’s the big deal?_  His shoulders relax a little.

 

“And I’m going to need you to get rid of that scent.”

 

Steve blinks. “What…how? You mean…?”

 

“Oh, don’t play dumb, Rogers! You two have been making googly eyes at each other since Day One!”

 

The truth slaps Steve in the face and has him stiffening up in the chair, incredulous. “What?”

 

“ I need you to mark him, you know. Erase Reault’s scent-marker. I don’t care what you have to do or how you do it, but, it may be the best way to ensure Barne’s safety.”

 

Steve can do nothing about the  red-hot blush skittering up his neck and into his face. “But sir…I…”

 

“It shouldn’t be a big deal, right? You aren’t mated, neither is he, so it’s not like you two have significant others to worry over when you get home, right? I’m not asking you to /Breed/ him, Rogers, for fuck’s sake!”

 

Steve stops his stammering long enough to peel off his hat and run his fingers through his hair, the soft spikes splaying into messy curls on the top of his head. “He may make an attempt on my life, sir.” Steve says it half-jokingly, knowing that there is a portion of him that is most definitely /not/ kidding.

 

The Warden chuckles in spite of himself. “Would you imagine that. Captain Steve Rogers, afraid of a thin-waisted, pony-tailed Omega.” His face falls stern again as he adds, “If he refuses, send him home, no questions asked.” The Warden makes a horizontal chopping motion before raising his coffee cup to his mouth. “That will be all.”

 

“But…sir…”

 

The Warden’s holds up a flat palm in front of Steve’s face, effectively ending the conversation.

 

Steve scrubs his face raw on the way out of the office, praying the blush dissipates by the time he reaches the Communications Room.

 

* * * * *

 

*Bucky*

 

 

“S’cuse me?” He stares incredulously  at the tall blond, arms crossing his chest. “Wanna run that one by me again, Cap?”

 

His superior swallows and hastens a step forward, and Bucky would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit how very much he liked to see the Captain squirm. “Things could get ugly really quick here, Barnes. The Warden is trying to lessen the pressure on you. We don’t know if Reault is planning anything, but if he is it could spell trouble for you. I have my orders.” His tone is firm but non-aggressive, and his hands raise in a ‘not-my-fault’ kind of gesture.

 

Bucky wiggles onto the sloped desk, crossing his legs in a defiant lean, cocking his head to the side as he lets out a huff. “I don’t need your ‘protection’. You’ve got to be certifiable if you think I am just going to let you—“

                                                                                                                                                                        

“Then _don’t_ ,” Steve barks. “Go home, get some rest, maybe check the Help Wanted Ads.”

 

“Fuck you,” Bucky growls, his eyes flashing.

 

“Just what _is_ it with you?” Steve lands a hand on his hip, the heavy set of keys rattling on his side.

 

Bucky shrugs. “We’re sick of your bullshit,” he hisses.

 

Steve shakes his head. “NO. No, we aren't talking about _Omegas_ , Barnes. We're discussing _you_. There is something with  _you._ You walk around here like God’s gift to Law Enforcement, with a chip on your shoulder the size of Cincinnati, and get pissed off as soon as anyone so much as looks at you sideways.”

 

Bucky scoffs, but it is diminished, and he hides his grimace under the round uniform hat and the few soft wisps of hair that spill out from his ponytail. “This coming from the Arian Alpha Specimen.”

 

“You think my life has been _easy_?” Steve growls, taking an assertive step forward. “You think that just because I am who I am, that I do what I do, that I haven’t had to work at it every goddamn day of my existence?”

 

Bucky’s head snaps forward and he flexes his jaw as their eyes meet and burn into each other. “Yer damn right I do. Ever been felt up, Rogers? /Huh/? Ever been in the middle of making an arrest, alone on a goddamned one-lane highway at two in the morning with two 7-foot-tall Alpha brutes? Ever have been thrown up on the hood of your own patrol car and fucked so hard you start sliding around on the blood and the semen and your own fucking _fluids_?”

 

Steve’s eyelids flutter, his proud, accomplished look dissolving into devastation. They share a pause of solid silence, as the black and white surveillance videos flicker behind Bucky.

 

“…you didn’t have to fight for shit.” Bucky spits into the trash can, for effect, mostly—because his mouth is dry but goddamn it he’s making a /point/—and he blinks back the moisture welling in his eyes.

 

“Bucky…” Steve says in a half-sigh, taking another step forward.

 

Bucky’s eyes flash and once again he is glaring up at him. “What did you call me?”

 

“I—I uh….” Steve stammers.

 

Bucky’s head cocks to the side and his deep green irises grow black, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Where did you fucking—you fucker.” He snorts, shuffling his feet on the ragged gray carpet. “Only my sisters get to call me that.”

 

Steve’s mouth is hanging open and he is making a visible attempt to backpedal, but Bucky’s stare only forces the truth out of him and he gives it up without a fight. “The voice message your sister left…”

 

Bucky nods. “Thought as much.”

 

“Look,” Steve says, ignoring the angry warning that Bucky flashes him as he takes a spot on the sloped desk beside him. “You’re right, okay? I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you. But you have two choices, here—stay and fight, or go home. I have my orders.”

 

Bucky’s eyes flutter, his expression softening ever so slightly as he stares into his Captain’s eyes. “And if you were me?”

 

Steve sighs, his shoulders slumping forward. “Go home, James.”

 

Bucky nods, slowly, staring straight ahead. He flicks his tongue across his lips and taps his fingers on his biceps. “That’s what I thought,” he says finally, before leaning into the bewildered Captain and pressing their lips together firmly.

 

 

*Steve*

 

 

Steve’s mouth parts, the rounded humps giving way to Bucky’s lithe tongue as it slips in past his teeth and laps at the taste. His hand flies to Bucky’s cheek, steadying himself against the lanky Omega, and Bucky is pressing his full weight onto him, one knee perched on the counter, trapping the Captain where he sits. Steve sucks in a hiss of air and follows the trail of saliva, battling Bucky for control.

 

A silky sip of hot chocolate is what Steve thought Bucky would taste like, and instead he is getting the whole candy shop. Steve shudders, the stubborn rut from last night springing to life, bulging against his uniform and the arching into the heat from Bucky’s legs as he spreads his thighs over Steve’s hips.

“Jesus…” He whimpers, and Bucky sits down, straddling his waist and hugging Steve’s bulge firmly in between his round ass cheeks.

 

“Go on, Captain,” Bucky mocks. “Gimme what you got.” He bumps furiously against Steve’s trapped shaft and Steve gasps, the bourbon caramel from Bucky’s lips making his mouth water.  Bucky plants both hands on either side of his head, drowning him in his scent.

 

Emboldened, Steve’s hands flutter to Bucky’s uniform shirt, popping them open without much care as to whether or not they fly off, dragging his nails under the ribbing of the warm turtleneck, the pads of his palms skittering up Bucky’s ebbing belly to his firm abs. His skin is soft and overly warm and void of any hair. He finds a budding nipple and rolls it between his fingers.

 

Bucky gasps, biting back a whimper and jumping off Steve’s lap. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

 

“No, don’t.” Steve’s face is buried in the hollow of Bucky’s neck as he peels the shirt away, exposing the bandage and the pink glow of heat that spreads up Bucky’s chest. His thumbs circle Bucky’s biceps, forming little goosebumps and earning a shiver from the Omega. “Please, don’t.” Steve’s hands are everywhere, following Bucky’s movements as if any loss of closeness between the two would mean his death.

 

Bucky peels the turtleneck away, throwing it to the floor as Steve attacks his chest. “Fuck,” he breathes, biting his bottom lip as Steve leans into him, capturing him against the desk. Their hearts are pounding together so hard that it drowns out the sound of their panting breaths.

 

“Can I?” Steve’s fingers hesitate over the bandage and Bucky nods.

 

“Fuck, yes, please, God…” Bucky’s whimper turns into a keening wail as the bandage is ripped away and Steve buries his head in the spot. The scent is overpowering, but only for a moment. Steve lets out a guttural growl at the foreign smell of the other Alpha and wets the skin, drowning it in his own smell and sucking until fresh blood leaks through. “Aah—!” Bucky jumps at the momentary pain.

 

“Sorry,” Steve moans, his fingers fluttering across Bucky’s nipples in soothing circles.

 

“Okay…it’s okay…”

 

Steve licks and sucks and marks until all traces of the old scent has disappeared and Bucky is moaning incoherently beneath him, the fog from the Omega mating signals clouding his brain. His wide hands spread across Bucky’s ass, crushing their hips together, and he discovers that Bucky is hard, too. Steve shudders as he feels himself leaking into his uniform pants. “Christ, Bucky…”

 

Steve forces himself off Bucky when the other Alpha’s scent dissipates. He shudders as the lusty haze washes over him, and both he and Bucky laugh softly together. Bucky places a hand on Steve’s cheek and Steve turns to kiss it.

 

“Fuck…you _are_  good at that,” Bucky admits.

 

Steve is too busy peppering Bucky’s open palm with love-bites to reply.

 

* * * * *

 

The search of Reault’s buddies’ cells reveal nothing. If the redheaded behemoth is planning anything, he is going to great lengths to hide it. The Captain and his newfound partner encounter him as they walk towards each other from either ends of the hallway.

 

Steve nods to Sam, who is escorting Reault back to his cell. “Everything’s clear,” he announces. Steve makes extra-sure to ignore the glare from the hand-cuffed tyrant. He is no longer a threat, as far as he is concerned. Bucky carries Steve’s freshly-marked scent, and if Reault wants a fight, he’s got one.

 

He doesn’t see the grin Reault slides Bucky as they pass. And if Bucky sees it, he doesn’t let Reault know.

 

* * * * *

 

*Bucky*

 

He yanks his duffel out of the bottom of the locker, unzipping it to shove his uniform shirt inside, and freezes instantly.

 

“Fuck.”

 

His hands paw feverishly inside the sack as his heart jumps into his throat.

 

“ _FUCK!”_

 

“Whoa, easy there, princess,” Rumlow chortles.

 

Bucky flashes an accusatory glare. “What did you do with them?!"

 

“With what?,” Rumlow asks. The grin on his face doesn’t fade.

 

“You fucking /know/ what,” Bucky hisses. Whether or not Rumlow does, he obviously finds the predicament amusing.

 

Bucky shoves past, ramming him in the shoulder and nearly sending him into the opposing row of lockers as he breaks out into a dead-run.

 

“Shit,” Rumlow huffs. He glances at Sam, who is frowning at him. “Was it something I said?”

 

* * * * *

 

_> >>You have reached the office of Dr. Jill Paulm. Please leave your name, number and a brief message and we will get back to you as quickly as possible. <<<_

 

“Hi, Doc. Look, I uh…I had my pills taken from me sometime today. They were in my locker. I know we’re not really supposed to travel with them, but I don’t trust anybody and well…I know I locked the door, that’s the thing. Somebody…well…somebody took them and I don’t know who. I know you don’t usually give early re-fills but I had twenty left and there’s no way I can go three weeks without…please, Doc. Call me back as soon as you can.”

 

Bucky’s head is pounding and he is almost sobbing as he slams the phone down and drags his fingers through his hair.

 

“ _Fuck_.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, lovees here it is! Chapter 5! I added some pretty cute parts in here (at least I think they are cute) to kind of make up for how this chapter ends up (sorry!) I hope you enjoy!

*Steve*

 

Sam sits across the shabby little round table and lets out a snicker. “Easy there, buttercup.”

 

“Whaht?” Steve’s mouth is packed too full to answer him properly, one half of his face taken up by mashed potatoes and buttered corn. A thin strand of gravy has escaped to leak down his bottom lip.

 

Sam’s eyebrows jump, and he hides his smirk in his cup of black coffee. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you pound down so much food. Cupboards empty at home or something?”

 

“Noh,” Steve grumbles, shaking his head. “I domt knowh what iht ish.” He gulps and chases the food down with a tall green soda in a 7-11 slurpee cup before finally coming up for air. “I just woke up really hungry this morning. Been starving ever since.”

 

Sam balances the metal folding chair on two legs, perching his coffee cup on his bicep with one hand and pointing his finger in a circular motion over the massacred meal with the other.  “I can see that, Cap.”

 

Steve is too busy chomping into a chicken thigh (number eleven, he thinks?) to be embarrassed. He knows he must look like a total slob right now, but the chicken just *dissolves* in his mouth like ice cream and the breading is *so* crispy and for the first time in a long time, Steve is /eating/. He never eats like this—not even at home. Maybe it’s stress, he muses. Or maybe he’s over-tired. Maybe he is coming down with some sort of freaky virus that makes you pig out. Whatever it is, the food before him is rapidly disappearing yet somehow, inexplicably, he barely feels the least bit satisfied.   

 

“I mean, damn,” Sam chuckles into his mug. “I haven’t chowed down like that since…” His voice trails off, his smile dissolving into a ponderous frown.

 

“Shince Whaht?,” Steve asks, only half-interested. He opens his jaw wider (hell, at this point he’d unhinge it if he could) and shoves in another spoonful of potatoes.

 

Sam begins anew. “How long have you and the new recruit been…a thing?”

 

Steve’s eyes flicker upwards at the mention of Bucky. Truth be told, he had woken up in such a ravenous stupor that his partner hadn’t even crossed his mind. The thought stalls his chewing, and he plants both elbows down on the table, searching the ceiling for answers. “Whell we’reh not rheally a _thingh_ ….” He shrugs, pushing the thought aside to reach for another chicken thigh.

 

“Oh,” Sam mutters. “So you guys haven’t...?”

 

If he is waiting for Steve to answer, he is going to be sorely disappointed. Steve is far too busy making out with his KFC—dirty moaning included—to be paying any attention.

Sam’s eyes narrow. “Cap.”

 

“Mhhhhmmm….”

 

“/Cap/.”

 

“Dhihs….so dammh ghood…”

 

“/CAP-TAIN/.” Sam brings his baton down on the desk and Steve jumps, his eyes looking like glazed donuts and one side of his cheek packed full with food. “Have you and Barnes like, you know, fooled around or anything?”

 

Steve swallows and shakes his head, letting out a soft laugh. “Oh, god no. Pretty sure he’d kill me if I tried anything. No, Sam. It’s not like that.” Steve’s eyes flutter down to the table. “Warden ordered me to erase Reault’s scent off him.” He shrugs sharply. “That’s all.”

 

Sam raises an eyebrow. “That’s it, huh?”

 

Steve nods.

 

“That’s all that happened.”

 

Steve’s eyes narrow, flinging darts of annoyance at his nosy friend. “That’s all that happened. Yeah. How many ways do you need it said, Sam?”

 

“I’m just wondering, cuz…you know…the only time an alpha usually eats like that is…”

 

Steve blinks, rolling his hand in a ‘go on’ gesture. “Is…?”

 

Sam, the proud Daddy of three pups, cocks his head to one side and stares incredulously at his superior. “Ya mean you don’t know.”

 

Steve huffs and shovels a heaping mound of potatoes into his mouth.

 

“Huh.” Sam’s shoulders drop as he returns the chair to all fours and stares off into the distance. “Cap, the only time an Alpha gets hungry, I mean, like the kind of ‘hungry’ food can’t cure, is when his uhm…you know, his  Omega is in heat.”

 

“Well, Bucky’s not my Omega, and—“

 

“’Bucky’?! Who the hell his ‘Bucky’? So you have cute little nicknames, now? What does he call you? I gotta know.”

 

“Oh, relax, it’s what his sisters call him—“

 

“Ah, so only family calls him Bucky, right. You guys are fam—“

 

“Alright, knock it off, would you?” Steve slams his spoon down, shoving away from the table. Sam is right—the food barely touches his hunger, and his stomach growls as if he hadn’t just consumed well over five pounds of food. He secretly runs a hand over his stomach through his uniform shirt, and finds his abs still washboard-flat, belying any evidence of his over-indulgent meal. “We’re not even _friends_ , Sam. I did what I did to try and get Reault off his back, and we don’t even know yet if it’s going to work.”

 

“Okay, man. Relax. Look, I’m sorry if I seem pushy it’s just..I know how these things go.”

 

“What things?” Steve turns back to flash Sam a glare that does little to hide his piqued interest.  “Jesus, Sam. He takes suppressants.”

 

“Yeah, maybe. But I have never seen a heat-response work over such a long proximity. I mean, with him having the day off and all…have you guys even been in the same room together today?”

 

“No, obviously.”

 

Sam shakes his head, eyeing Steve as if he is some rare sea-urchin that has come out of the depths to do a tap-dance.  “That’s crazy.”

 

Steve tries to hide the rumbling of his stomach with a fake cough. “I still don’t see what this has to do with…”

 

“Steve, you guys are…I mean, if it’s what I think it is…you guys are _in sync_ , man.”

 

Concern begins to gnaw at the edges of Steve’s thought process and he pinches his gravy-glazed chin in thought. “I’d better go check on him…”

 

“NO, NO Don’t do that—“ Sam slams his coffee cup down and waves both hands palms-out in front of Steve. “I mean, not unless you two /want/ to get freaky.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes. “I think I can control myself, especially around _him_. Trust me. He’s not _that_ great of a catch, Sam. Besides, he is a little too…jock-ish for my taste.”

 

“Whatever you say, boss. But fair warning,” Sam counters. “It could mean trouble if he’s in heat and you go anywhere near him. His scent is already all over you, too, Cap. You know that, right? You guys have scented each other. So whatever happens…” He blows out a long, ragged breath. “Just be /aware/.”

 

“Yeah, well…” Steve chugs the last of the saccharine soft-drink, feels the frozen liquid run down his esophagus and disappear down the black hole that is his stomach. He frowns and grabs his night-stick off the table. Time to get back to work. He will go and check on the new recruit after work, but Steve has some major reservations about what Sam is saying.

 

It’s not like he actually _likes_ the annoying, pig-headed, stubborn, ego-driven, pissy...

 

A faint crinkling sound interrupts the thought and the buttery,  slightly chemical smell of a factory-made cinnamon roll wafts across his nose. He eyes Sam eagerly, running his tongue over his lips. “You gonna eat that?,” he asks, and snatches the little Debbie packet before waiting for a reply.

 

“Guess not,” Sam snorts. Steve darts off and slams the metal door of the breakroom behind him, leaving Sam to stare down at his empty hands, frozen in time as if still holding the package. Sam shakes his head slowly, watching through the bullet-proof window as a blond head bobs down the hallway.

 

* * * * *

 

Steve shuts off the engine and stares at the apartment door chewing his bottom lip. The ravenous need to eat anything and everything in sight had finally dissipated around three-o-clock. It’s replaced with a mild headache and an overly-full feeling in his stomach. He swallows dryly and steps out onto the paved driveway.

 

Bucky’s scent lingers in the air. His apartment door is the only one without a doormat or a welcome sign, but it may as well be lit up with multi-colored Christmas lights and a fourth-of-July banner. His smell is intoxicating under suppression pills, but without them, Steve ceases to smell and begins to *feel*. His want, urgent and sultry, hangs in the brisk air and makes the nearly empty parking lot feel thick like soup. Steve raises his sleeve to his mouth and his eyes flutter closed. “Jesus…”

 

It takes him three quick strides to cross the lot, and he balls his hand into a light fist, raising it as he reaches the door.

 

“Go away,” a muffled voice grumbles.  From the sound of it, Bucky is in a prone position, a blanket or pillow smooshed against his face. He sounds miserable.

 

“Bucky, come on. I just want to talk.”

 

He hears a soft snicker. “Yeah, sure, Captain. You and every other tom-cat in a five-mile radius.”

 

Steve is rock-hard in his pants. Every Alpha instinct is shouting at him to tear the door off its thick metal hinges and destroy anything and everything between himself and the saucy brunet. He swallows deeply and tries again. “What…what happened?”

 

“The fuck do you mean, _what happened?._ Should think it’d be obvious, even for your rut-fogged brain. I ran out of my pills, that’s what. Somebody swiped ‘em from my locker.”

 

“Oh god,” Steve mutters. “I am so sorry, Buck.”

 

“Yeah, well…not as sorry as I am. The doc says my insurance company is “Contesting the Validity of my Reproductive Affiliation.”

 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

 

“Same shit I dealt with back on the Department. My profession is strictly Alpha-related. So I’d have to go in for a complete physical to get my pills re-filled.”

 

“That is bullshit!” Steve chews on the inside of his lip in thought. “But still…wouldn’t it be better than going through…you know…”

 

Bucky lets out a bitter laugh and the smoky smell of a damp cigarette rolled out from under the door. “You big idiot. It means I’d have to get a complete physical exam while in-heat.”

 

Steve’s eyebrows jump. “Oh.”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky growls, taking a long drag of the cigarette. “ _Oh_.”

 

Steve shifts his feet, turning on one heel to slump against the door. Across the parking lot, a lanky man in a red hoodie grins as he makes his way towards the door. Steve’s hackles bristle. “Piss off!,” he barks. The other Alpha is taller, but not nearly as built. It only takes him a second to size Steve up, determine the inevitability of his defeat, and saunter off, ego slightly bruised. So, he isn’t as dumb as he looks. Steve lets out a satisfied grunt. He presses his cheek to the door. “I’ll tell the Warden you’re taking the next few days off.”

 

“Like /fuck/ you will!” A loud BANG erupts on the other side of the door and Steve jumps back just as the hinges rattle from the impact. “I know you’d love to get rid of me. I know you think I am some kind of liability to you. I can handle my own. I don’t need you ordering me around!”

 

“This isn’t negotiable,” Steve growls. The anger zings through him and rushes a sweet sting of heat through his pants, straight to his groin. He shivers and grips the door to steady himself. “You are staying home. You hear me?”

 

“Fuck _YOU_.”

 

Steve wants to, oh god does he want to. He wipes a bead of sweat from his brow and puts his back into the door, sliding down until his ass hits pavement. “Tell me you don’t feel it, too.” His voice is diminished, the words painfully earnest, and Steve hides his erection with a bent knee even as he swipes his thumb over the trapped bulge in his pants.

 

A small whine floats through the door, and Steve’s eyes flutter closed. “Shut up.” Bucky’s voice is ragged, defeated.

 

“Tell me…” Steve licks his lips again, curiosity hazing his already rut-addled brain. “Tell me your legs aren’t weak. That your hands aren’t shaking. That your…” A rush of heat surges to the surface of his cheeks as he grips his denim-trapped bulge and gasps in spite of himself. He is rock-hard, now, leaking into his underwear as he breathlessly pants against the door. “…tell me that your cock isn’t about to burst.”

 

“Steve!” Bucky’s voice is half-horrified and Steve hears both fists fall against the door. “You fucking bastard.”

 

Steve lets out a ragged sigh, the back of his head bumping against the metal frame. “Stay home, Bucky. That’s an order.” He slides himself up, legs shaking and weak as his member throbs between them. He gingerly pulls at the crotch of his jeans, trying desperately to give himself much-needed room, before stumbling back to the truck.

 

* * * * *

 

*Bucky*

 

“Hey, sweet pea…” Rumlow slithers his head around Bucky’s open locker to leer at him. Bucky glares at him through the corner of his eye and fastens the band around his hair _tightly_.

 

“Don’t want no problems, today.” He hisses. “But if you insist, I’ll give you one.”

 

“Ooohh,” Rumlow faux-shivers, leaning in closer to run a single pointer-finger up Bucky’s spine. “That sounds tempting.”

 

Bucky shudders, the sweet heat from the Alpha permeating his uniform and making his stomach muscles tighten. His eyes flutter closed as he sends up a prayer (to whatever god might be listening) for the strength to resist wrapping one of his zip-ties around Brock’s neck and cutting off his air supply.

 

“Hey, didn’t Captain give you the rest of the week off?”

 

“None of your business.” Bucky slams the locker shut, ripping the key out from the padlock with his teeth and giving the lock two solid tugs. He saunters off, his quick strides helping him to gain distance between them.

 

“Christ almighty.” Brock leans against the rows of lockers and enjoys the view as Bucky struts off. He licks his lips, turning to Sam who gives him half a glare. “You smell the oil comin off that engine?” He laughs heartily, shamelessly grabbing himself. The bulge presses out from the guard uniform and bumps out over Rumlow’s fingers. “I mean, shit, look at this!”

 

“Keep it in your pants, Brock.” Sam’s face slides into a look of complete disgust. “He’s not yours.”

 

“Not /yet/,” he murmurs, heaving a dirty, dreamy sigh. “Not yet…”

 

* * * * *

 

*Steve*

 

 

“WARDEN!”

 

“Good LORD, Rogers, what the fuck is it THIS TIME?” The golf ball bounces the left side of the shallow pocket and bobbles off the green strip of carpet, disappearing under the heavy oak desk just as the flustered Captain enters.

 

“It’s Barnes again!”

 

The Warden rolls his eyes as he straightens up, leisurely swinging his five-iron. “Good Christ, lately it’s _always_ Barnes…”

 

“He has defied my orders for the last time.” Steve stands, fists balled, huffing, angry blue eyes burning, teeth clenched. “Did you know he reported for duty today?” Steve says it in a can-you-believe-it tone, his expression comically incredulous. He crouches under the desk, scrounging around, and moments later the white ball rolls out. “He defied a direct order from his superior!”

 

“Don’t know what to tell you,” The Warden murmurs as he lines up the next shot. “He’s your Omega.”

 

“He is NOT—“ Steve corrects himself, softening his tone. “He is not /my /Omega. He isn’t /anyone’s/ Omega. I doubt he even knows how to  _be_ an Omega. He is a stubborn, self-serving, conceited  _ass_ and—“

 

The Warden dissolves into laughter, even as Steve stares, horrified. “Good God! Listen to you go on! Look, he has committed enough of an infraction that you could write him up if you want, but if Barnes wants to work, he wants to work. My hands are tied.”

 

“This is bullshit.”

 

“When are you going to fuck him?”

 

Steve’s eyes flutter. “Excuse me, sir?”

 

The Warden shrugs. “You’ve already marked each other, for Christ’s sake. Why not make it official? Rogers, it’s going to be the best way to reign him in…and to prevent any…’unfortunate’ incidents.”

 

“You think I haven’t already thought about that? I am just not…I’m not…I mean… I don’t—!” Steve’s voice trails off as the bright red glow of embarrassment creeps up his neck.

 

“Is that all, Rogers?” The Warden doesn’t wait for a reply before he swings the club and the ball rolls smoothly into the little plastic cup at the end of the mat.

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve growls, and slams the door behind him.

 

* * * * *

 

*Bucky*

 

The cat-calls are harmless but to Bucky, they seem like the distant call of a murder of crows in the middle of a forest at night. He knows they can all sense it, and he hates himself for it. He keeps his heart-rate steady, just like he practiced in the Force, and feigns a disinterested, bored look as he goes about his day. The ebbing burn in the pit of his stomach is nothing new. This isn’t the first time he’s gone without. The government has a firm grip on the drug companies that create the suppressants, so much so that they are impossible to procure on a steady basis, let alone to have enough to create a buffer in the case of theft or loss. This isn’t his first rodeo, he reminds himself as the jeers and the wolf-whistles meld into one taunting, off-key song in his ears.

 

Steve’s scent surrounds him and he would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that it calms his nerves a little. The same fragrance makes a leering convict curl his nose and think twice about what his Alpha senses are telling him to do. They are, all of them, backing away from the bars as he passes, even if it just by an inch or two, and that’s good. The more lowlifes behind bars he encounters today, the better. He plans on staying out of the yard. That would be suicide.

 

He strolls by B-14, trying to make it look nonchalant. The cell is empty. Bucky tenses a little, then tells himself Reault must be in the yard. That’s okay. Bucky plans on going nowhere  _near_ the yard today.

 

He volunteers for kitchen duty. The convicts in the kitchen are somewhat softer Alphas (meaning they don’t walk around with their brains stored permanently in their balls) and any sultry looks his heat signal warrants, Steve’s Alpha scent drives away. Sutton is here, too. He heads up the food-ordering  and works the rest of the time as a dishwasher. He looks paler than usual today, and unlike the other Alphas who are eagerly fawning all over Bucky, Sutton stammers, moving a step back and flashes Bucky a surprised, deer-caught-in-the-headlights kind of look.

 

“Hey, Sutton.” Bucky claps a hand on his holster, ignoring the strange stare the lanky convict is giving him. “How are the brownies today?”

 

“Oh. Uhm, they’re okay.” Sutton glances down at the huge sheet of chocolate batter and forces a smile. “Wasn’t expecting you here.”

 

Bucky frowns. That is a very odd statement. Sutton must catch the hint, because he adds

 

“Erhm. S’early yet.”

 

“Well, let’s just say I’m…filling in for today.” Bucky flashes him a tight-lipped grin, and Sutton’s shoulders relax.

 

“Oh. Kay.”

 

The lunch-room is busy but manageable. The Alpha libido can rarely tell the difference between whether it’s hungry or horny. Everyone is too busy mowing down to make a big deal out of it.

 

“Boss,” Sutton says. “The uh…the extra dough is in the freezer and Gordon forgot the key.”

 

Bucky snickers a little, shaking his head as he tugs his key-ring loose from his hip. He slides a look over at the fellow guard, asking with his eyes if he can cover the floor, and the guard nods. Bucky saunters off with the tall Alpha in tow.

 

“I swear, you guys would be useless without me here to wipe your asses.” Bucky is still shaking his head as he paws through the keys, looking for the mate to the heavy padlock swinging from the freezer bolt.

 

“I’m so sorry, Boss,” he hears Sutton mutter behind him.

 

An arm clamps around his neck, instantly crushing his windpipe. He scampers his booted feet against the stainless steel door, hoping to gain enough leverage to shove the alpha off of him.

 

“Hold his feet!,” Sutton barks, and weight like a concrete block forms around his ankles.

 

“The hell are you doing?!” Bucky rasps, sending an elbow into the tall man’s rib cage.

 

“I’m so sorry, Boss. I’m so sorry…” Sutton just keeps repeating it, even as he shoves Bucky face-down into the metal counter top. Bucky hears a crack, and when his head flies back, black blood sputters from his nose.

 

“The fuck, man?!,” one of the other convicts says. “Don’t damage him!”

 

“He’s stronger than he looks,” Sutton wines, wringing his bicep under Bucky’s chin, flattening his adam’s apple. Bucky’s hat flies off, the tightly-wound ponytail having come loose in the struggle.

 

“Bind his legs,” someone else says.

 

There is a zipping sound as one of Bucky’s ties slide out from his belt and ratchets around his knees.

 

“Don’t do this,” Bucky hisses, but his voice is barely a whisper now. Sutton’s arm is clamping down so tightly he can’t breathe, and the world is slowly fading out.

 

“Sorry boss,” Sutton repeats, his voice soft and earnest. “I’m so, so sorry.”

 

Stars appear in the blackness of Bucky’s closed eyes, and his body goes limp.

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter. Not giving anything away :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This final chapter of Cell Block Alpha contains a graphic rape scene and violence. Please do not read if you are easily offended by such things. Spoiler alert: all ends well! Thank you for reading!

*Bucky*

 

He stretches out his fingers and the ground is just frozen gravel beneath him. His eyelids part and he finds himself staring down a long crack in the floor that pools with grayish water. In the distance, a pipe drips methodically. He groans and rolls onto his hip, a decision he quickly regrets. The whole world is spinning and it’s taking him down with it. He moves his limbs and is surprised to find himself able to do so freely—no restraints or zip-ties binding his legs. He growls, folding his hands underneath his chest as he struggles to sit up.

 

 _Get up, Barnes, you idiot!_ He curses himself inwardly, spitting out a ball of coagulated blood that has gathered at the back of his throat. He swipes his hand under his nose and inspects it—clean.

 

“You promised…” A voice begins. Bucky stiffens and shifts his gaze towards the sound. It’s Sutton, stammering and swaying at the end of the corridor, wringing his hands in front of himself. “I brought him, okay? Now, you promised to let Shawney go.”

 

“Know what? You’re right.” The voice that answers is deeper, raspy. Bucky shivers and quickly eyes the room for possible exits. There are none, of course. It’s a cavernous concrete hall, the supporting columns cracked and decaying, a small sliver of light escaping from the end of the hallway where Bucky cannot see. “Don’t you worry bout a thing, Sutt. You did a good job, okay? You did the right thing and you know I keep my word. Wish you hadn’t a busted his nose open, but I ‘spose that probably couldn’t be helped.”

 

“It couldn’t, Mr. Reault. I-I tried to get him to calm down, but he fought me.”

 

Reault chuckles and taps his fingers against the brick doorway, flashing a look back at Bucky. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

 

The world is still spinning, so Bucky flattens his stomach against the frigid ground and rolls away, right into steel bars. “Fuck…,” He murmurs. It’s a holding cell, one that looks as if it hasn’t been used in ages. A broken toilet lays crumbled in the far corner, spattered with chalk scribblings some dark red liquid long since dried. There is a standing sink fastened to the wall, its pipes laid bare and gutted.

 

“Now, don’t you worry yourself.” Reault is patting Sutton’s shoulder, now, a pleased grin on his face. “You did good for bringing him to me. Means I can trust you. I’ll make the call as soon as I get back, okay?”

 

Sutton stammers and dares to pull on the hem of Reaut’s prison fatigues. “Uhm, could you…I mean, if it’s not any trouble…could you make the call now? It’s just that Shawney, see, he doesn’t take no meds and Fitz and Taber…I mean, they might…”

 

Reault lets out a snicker. “You afraid your boy’s gonna breed with one of them?”

 

Sutton chews on his lip before responding. “…Yeah.”

 

Reault shrugs. “Can’t lie to you, Sutt. They might. Hell, both of ‘em might. That Omega of yours is just *adorable*, you know. And Fitz, you know he’s only been out of the slammer for 3 weeks, hasn’t found himself a mate yet. And Taber—“ the giant lets out a sharp laugh that has Bucky’s stomach doing backflips.”—well, he’s just Taber.”

 

Sutton starts to shake now, uncontrollably, his eyes flashing wildly at the red-bearded man. “You did this on purpose. You—you fuckin’ set me up. You know I’d do anything you asked, Reault. /Anything/. And you still send those…those lowlifes in. You didn’t need a ransom! You didn’t need to use him!”

 

Reault steps back, a bemused look on his face. “Whoaaa, easy there cowboy. I didn’t know you were that *soft* on him. I had to give my guys *something* you know. Keep them following orders? I’m sure they will have their fun and go on their way…look, they won’t hurt him or nothing. Not without my say-so. ‘Sides,” he slaps Sutton on the shoulder and Sutton jumps. “Think of all the fun you’ll have erasing their scents from his tight little ass, not to mention the rest of him.”

 

Sutton’s eyes are welling with red-hot tears as he bites down. He nods bitterly. “Okay.”

 

“Good boy,” Reault says, giving his neck a firm squeeze. “Now get out of here.”

 

Sutton’s footsteps scamper off in the distance and Reault calls after him,” Don’t get any ideas now. Don’t you tell anybody, got that? Cute little Shawney’s depending on you.”

 

Bucky has pushed himself up into a sitting position, finally. Getting knocked out must have given him a little reprieve from the heat; the crawling, insatiable fire in his groin has diminished, despite the sharp migraine slowly chewing away on his brain.

 

“Cinn---ah---mon,” Reault’s big body twists around in Bucky’s direction. Bucky glances up through his thick bangs and forces a little smile.

 

“What took you so long?”

 

Reault ignores him, hissing in a deep breath of damp air. He crosses the room—if you can call it that—in two quick strides and rubs himself against the bars. “You look good enough to eat,” he grunts. “And the smell…my *god*….”

 

Bucky’s tongue juts out, swiping a line of saliva over his pouty lips as he forces himself to stand. “Do I need to ask what you did to Sutton’s mate?”

 

“Me?” Reault shoots him a comical look of surprise and shrugs. “Oh, nothing. I just needed a little…insurance that Sutton wasn’t going to back out on bringing you down to my little hideout.” He sweeps his arm out, gesturing to the dark cellar-like structure. “Whatddya think?”

 

“I think you’re a dead man,” Bucky growls and Reault throws his head back and chuckles.

 

“Ohhhh baby….you say that so easily.”Now it’s Reault’s turn to lick his lips, and he does so while burning holes into Bucky’s eyes with his own. “This place used to be called the Hell Hole.” He grunts at the thought. “Appropriate name, I guess. It was supposed to be a holding cell for criminals in need of “special protection”. They boarded it up when they couldn’t keep the body count down. Lots of shady shit went on down here…But, it’s my little vacation-home, now.” He flashes Bucky a toothy grin and Bucky can’t hold back a shiver. “See, Cinnamon? I told you I was gonna be your Daddy, didn’t I?”

 

The shock of cool concrete runs through Bucky before he realizes he’s pinned to the wall with Reault’s massive hand reaching through the bars to brush against his cheek.

 

Reault snickers. “I took those pesky zip-ties off.” In a moment, his hand disappears and he stalks around the bars, taking his sweet time as he reaches the cell door and unhinges the lock. The gate whines open. “You can fight if you want.” The behemoth steps inside, towering one head over Bucky’s 6 feet, sliding the bars shut behind him. “You can try gettin’ out of here. You can scream a little—“ a gravelly chuckle rumbles in his chest. “I’d like that.”

 

“Fuck you,” Bucky hisses. He balls his hand into a fist when reaching for his night-stick and discovering—with little surprise—that it isn’t there. The Alpha’s scent is familiar now; it permeates the dense, damp air and suddenly Bucky is choking on it. His heat-ridden aura pulses and ebbs to the scent that marked him—that claimed him—even as Steve’s scent rises to combat the rival fragrance.

 

Reault smells it, too—stick his nose up in the air and takes a deep drag, flexing his jaw. “Boss didn’t think that was going to stop me, did he?” With a groan, Reault lurches, slamming his open palm against the brick, inches from Bucky’s face. “What did he do to our bonding mark, huh?” He hooks a finger in the turtleneck and tugs. “Lemme see…”

 

Bucky’s hand comes up fast to swipe the invading hand away, even as his body sings from the sudden touch. He slides out of Reault’s reach and lands a boot against his ribs, knocking him back into the bars. Reault cackles, the massive muscles in his arms and chest rippling as he steadies himself against the bars and the rusty cage groans against his weight.

 

Bucky has retreated to the opposite side, hackles up and ready for a fight.

 

“Okay, now that shit’s _impressive_ ,” Reault mocks. “I figure it’s been what—at least three days since you’ve had a pill, right?”—he grins as Bucky’s eyes flash with realization—“More than enough time for you to go into a full-blown heat. Usually takes the fight right out of ya. Guess I should have known better. You’re no soft-skinned, bashful-eyed, Omega.”

 

In the distance, some ways above the low ceiling, a siren sounds, blasting out in a familiar low tone. “There’s the bell,” Bucky says. “They’re going to be coming for you. Might as well go easy on yourself and leave while you still have the chance.”

 

Reault shoots him a wide grin, his icy eyes dancing in the dim light, and he slowly shakes his head. “You don’t get it, do ya, Cinnamon? No one is coming to save you. Nobody knows we’re here. Just you and me, get it?” He reaches up, slowly unbuttoning the top of his prison fatigues, shrugging it off his wide shoulders. Every part of him is painted with freckles, dancing over the meaty muscle of his torso.

 

Bucky hides in his uniform sleeve as the scent overpowers him. Jutting out from the crotch of his fatigues, Reault’s cock is fully engorged, the head of it leaking into his pants. Bucky knows it is a long shot, knows he probably lacks the precision in his current condition, but he has to try. With a desperate cry, he lunges at him, a thick-heeled boot aimed straight at Reault’s dick, and is knocked to the ground instantly, Reault’s hand wrapped firmly around his ankle.

 

Bucky is being dragged along the concrete, dragged underneath the laughing behemoth, relieved of his uniform as the heavy fabric is ripped away, the tearing sound so loud it blocks out the wailing of the prison’s siren.

 

“Gonna breed you so good, Cinnamon…” Reault’s body flattens against Bucky’s, scraping his shoulder-blades against the frozen concrete. Bucky feels the probe of Reault’s naked cock on his leg and bends his knee to deflect it. His scalp burns as he is rewarded with a fist in his hair, pulling his head back and exposing is neck.

 

“Fuck you,” Bucky hisses, now because it is too late, and he can’t fight anymore. His brain can’t make his muscles work, his body involuntarily turning into jelly despite his struggling.

 

“Shhh, baby…” The big Alpha’s hands go soft, suddenly, his thumbs circling over Bucky’s biceps. “You know you want this.”

 

A frustrated tear rolls out from the corner of Bucky’s eye and he buries his teeth into Reault’s bicep. The show of violence leads to instant regret—he is marking his Alpha. Reault’s head rolls back and he lets a satisfied moan rumble out. The blood trickles into Bucky’s mouth and he coughs. Both hands are captured above his head and his body is so hot its practically melting into the man above him.

 

The stabbing pain comes minutes later. He is more than ready for it—his entrance is coated with his own self-lubricant and his hole aches hungrily despite himself. Reault is big, bigger than most—definitely the largest Bucky has ever taken. Bucky chokes out a desperate sob as his hips are lifted and the rigid, veiny cock penetrates him. “You gonna cry for me, baby?,” Reault mocks. “You gonna…uggh…..” He attempts to say something after that but, he, too is deep in rut and his jaw hangs open stupidly, a thread of saliva running down his mouth.

 

Bucky doesn’t hear the heavy metal door swing open. He doesn’t hear the guards shouting, the heavypounding of boots or the roar that emanates from Reault when he is hauled off of him. He sees the bright flash of blue and white, smells the sizzle of burning flesh from a hundred-thousand volts of electricity. Feels two strong arms wrap around him, the bearing of his own weight as he is lifted up.

 

The world comes into focus when his feet touch the concrete. He is staring down at himself, naked from the boots up, being steadied by a solid arm across his back. “….’m fine,” he mutters, but doesn’t make an attempt to push away. The scent is familiar, though his body denies reception of it, and does its best to calm his nerves.

 

“Go on, Cap,” a voice says. “We’ve got it from here.”

 

“Solitary,” he responds. The body moves with him, away from the cage, as they turn to make their way down the hallway. “Wait,” Steve says.

 

Bucky watches as the Captain strides up to the half-conscious giant and connects his fist with Reault’s face. The resulting “CRACK” reverberates against damp brick and mortar. Reault’s laughing in spite of the bright stream of blood running down his face. “He was mine, first, Boss! You remember that!” Reault lets out a jeering laugh as Steve takes another swing. The big man slumps forward in the arms of the two officers. Steve jogs back to Bucky, shaking out his bruised fingers. He returns a supportive arm around his waist. “Come on, I’ll get you to sick bay.”

 

Bucky shakes his head, pulling back from the embrace. “No.”

 

“Barnes, this is an ord—“

 

“I said NO,” he barks. The sudden expense of energy has heat rushing to his face and the room starts spinning again as he falls into Steve, clinging to his wide chest and the familiar, beckoning scent.

 

“Okay, okay,” Steve mutters, steadying him.

 

Bucky’s hand flutters into his hair, “Please. Just take me home.”

 

* * * * * 

 

*Steve*

 

He is trying to remember how he got here, making a meal out of his bottom lip and gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles as his passenger slumps towards the window, hiding his eyes with his hand. How did it come to this? Steve was a good boss and an even better Officer. So why on earth was he taking orders from a subordinate…an Omega, no less? Furthermore, why was said subordinate so frustratingly stubborn and pig-headed? And why were Steve’s pants growing so uncomfortably tight? He growls softly, flicking on his blinker as he turns down the street to Bucky’s apartment.

 

“No, stop here. This is close enough.”

 

“I’m *getting* you home,” Steve presses.

 

The brunet snorts quietly, his face hidden so that Steve can’t see his eyes. Bucky positively reeks—he smells of heat and damp basement and fucking *Reault* (whom Steve takes metal reminder of to kill later, thank you). Gone is the succulent candy-shop fragrance of dark coco beans and candied apples.No, he is way past that. If desperation had a smell, it would be *this*. It is musky and dark and needy, thick like a sponge.

 

Steve’s body is involuntarily responding, his dick twitching in his jeans and every synapse of every nerve on-edge, sparking pleasure signals through his belly. He slides another glance at Bucky, who has spilled half-out of his side of the truck and is now absentmindedly licking his lips.

 

“It’s going to be okay,” Steve says, not sure if he is saying it for Bucky’s benefit or his own.

 

“Right here,” Bucky says as they reach a side-street and Steve turns into before he even realizes what he’s doing.

 

“Why?”

 

“This is good. Stop the truck.”

 

Steve feels his foot pressing down on the brakes and he finds a soft grassy spot to slide the truck into. He is halfway into parking when Bucky slithers across the console and into Steve’s lap. “—the hell?” Steve’s eyelashes flutter into wavy brown locks as their mouths melt together, Bucky’s hand planted firmly around the back of Steve’s head, tugging softly on the short strands of blond hair.

 

“Mmmhh…” Bucky’s thighs come over Steve’s, the weight and the warmth sending pleasure signals so strong Steve is getting drunk on them.

 

“St—stop.” Steve pushes Bucky away, a hand on either bicep. He doesn’t dare stare directly into his face, so he just huffs and aims his gaze towards the window. “I’m not gonna…I’m not gonna do this. Not like this.”

 

Undeterred, Bucky strains forward to give the Captain coaxing little nips up his neck. Steve shudders. “C’mon,” he mutters, his breath warming Steve’s skin.

“Stop,” Steve repeats with an unconvincing shove.

 

Bucky rewards his efforts with a needy moan and rocks their hips together, the crevice of his round ass jutting up against Steve’s sore erection.

 

“I said, NO!” Steve peels him off this time, shoving Bucky’s back into the steering wheel, successfully separating their upper halves and holding him away at arm’s length.

 

Bucky’s glare is murderous. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Huh?”

 

Steve has to catch his breath. The gold flecks in Bucky’s eyes are sending sparks through him and choking off the very air to his lungs. His mouth hangs open, waiting for reason to follow, giving his Alpha drive time to notice the roundness of Bucky’s shoulders and the heat that bounces off his body. He swallows, finding his throat bone-dry, and in one fluid move dumps the Omega into the bucket seat beside him, depositing him back to his side of the truck. “I’m not going to do this.”

 

“Not going to what?” Bucky is practically shouting. He brings his fist down on the console and blasting a snort of air through his nose, not unlike the proverbial bull in a china shop. “Not going to ‘take advantage of me’? What, because you’re such a big, heroic Alpha? Cut the /shit/ already! How dense do you think I am? What’s the fucking point? To—to drop me off at my door like some fucking prom date just to go home and wank it to the thought of it? The thought of what we could be actually doing—RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW?” He dissolves against the seat, letting out a shuddering breath. “Fucking hell.”

 

Steve chews on his response. His Alpha aura is screaming at him—is he insane? He should be BONING this perfect specimen of an Omega, who is all but laid bare for the taking, and practically /begging/ to be bred? He flexes his jaw and punches the truck into Drive.

 

* * * * *

 

*Bucky*

 

_He has to get this scent off of him._

 

_He has to get a cock inside of him and NOW._

 

_Get the scent OFF._

_The cock IN._

_Scent off! Cock IN! Jesus Fucking Christ…_

He throws the truck door open and steadies himself against the handle. He glances back, the gleam in his eyes suddenly growing softer. He licks his lips, preparing himself to bare a little tiny piece of his soul. It is a dangerous thing to do. He has been crushed before. “I like you. You get that, right?”

 

The big, dumb , over muscular blonde blinks as if this is a whole new news-flash and finally he is at least *looking* in Bucky’s general direction. “You…you do?”

 

Bucky can’t help but snicker. “I mean, yeah. I do. I dunno. The Boy-Scout-Jock Type was never my style…but…It works on you.

 

Steve’s eyes narrow. “Thanks. I think.”

 

Bucky sighs. “Look. I gotta…Uhm. I gotta take a shower. We are both going to catch hell for leaving like we did. So, at least come in and grab a beer or something, before—“

 

“YES.” Steve blinks, obviously surprised at his own lightening-like response. “I mean…if it’s not too...I mean…Sure.”

 

Moments later, said beer has been discarded on the counter half-drank as the two struggle to rid each other of their uniforms, leaving a trail of black scraps in their wake. Bucky stumbles into the shower first, reaching a hand back to fumble with the water. It blasts out of the showerhead ice cold, and Bucky lets out a startled laugh, launching himself into Steve’s arms as he follows the brunet in.

 

Steve’s kisses are full and soft—gentler than Bucky prefers—but his hands sweep over Bucky’s hips in wide, coaxing circles and his stare is wolf-like. Bucky sighs when Steve backs him into the spray—it’s getting warmer, now—wrapping a leg around his thick waist.

 

“God,” Steve groans, his impressive erection slick and bulbous and bumping up against Bucky’s leg. His head disappears into Bucky’s shoulder, bringing his teeth down on the neck-wound. He laps at it hungrily, erasing Reault’s murky scent and replacing it with his own. Bucky wines, his heart pounding in his chest so loud it blocks out his own voice as he whimpers against Steve’s ear.

 

Steve is thrusting upward in seconds, his cock so full and stiff that Bucky’s eyes flutter closed at the feel of it against his entrance. “You okay?” Steve hesitates, his hips backing off just a bit even as Bucky’s legs squeeze in tighter.

 

“Mmmh…yeah,” Bucky moans, wiggling his hips downward, his tight opening coating the head of Steve’s dick with his own lubricant.

 

Steve frowns a little. “You’re sure?”

 

“Jesus Christ, boy-scout, fuck me already.” Bucky bares down, swallowing the head of Steve’s cock. Steve falters forward, steadying a hand on the shower wall, mouth open, choking down a cry. Bucky’s head flies back, biting down on his bottom lip as the sensation of being filled—/finally/—washes over him. Steve pushes further in, beginning a rhythm as his dick is drawn inward.

 

* * * * *

 

*Steve*

 

Somehow, they’ve made it to the bed. Steve’s bulging knot is firmly embedded in Bucky, and he moans contentedly in his new lover’s arms.

 

“Shit,” Bucky breathes, letting his legs flop to either side. His energy is spent. He reaches a shaky hand to cup Steve’s face, and Steve turns to kiss his open palm. They are both soaking wet and sticking to the bedsheets, but it doesn’t matter. Bucky’s opening puckers, squeezing the last few drops of come that drizzle out of Steve’s dick.

 

Bucky’s breastbone is a perfect pocket for Steve’s chin, and his head follows the rise and fall of Bucky’s chest as he breathes. “You okay?,” Steve asks as he study’s Bucky’s face.

 

“Yeah. More than okay.” Bucky sweeps a stray hair behind his ear.

 

“It’s just…after what happened with Reault.”

 

Bucky shrugs, his face falling into a cold, distant look. “Wouldn’t be the first time.

 

A look of disbelief flashes behind Steve’s relaxed expression, but he decides that now would not be the time to push the subject. The second wave of Bucky’s heat is ramping up and squeezing the life out of him.

 

He bites his bottom lip and Bucky lets out a soft laugh. “Sorry.”

 

“Don’t be,” Steve says, bending to brush his pouty lips against the brunet’s. “It feels…amazing.”

 

* * * * *

 

“Rogers. Barnes.” The warden nods as the two take seats opposite the frowning, gray-haired man. He flashes a look first at Bucky, sliding a small white bottle across the table at him. “I believe these are yours.”

 

Bucky twists it open with a “POP”, shaking the contents around. “Where did you find them?”

 

“Random locker inspection. It doesn’t matter whose. What does matter is thanks to that, and a few grams of coke, we’re in need of a new Sergeant.”

 

Bucky’s eyes narrow. “Fucking Rumlow. I fucking _knew_ it. He must have been in league with Reault.”

 

The Warden shrugs. “We’ll probably never know. The important thing is, we’re down an officer. I’ll be needing an answer by the end of the day.”

 

Bucky and Steve share looks.

 

“An answer regarding what?”

 

“Well..?” another item sails across the desk. This time it’s a heavy silver chevron with a long magnet in the back. 

 

Bucky picks it up, inspecting the medal as it gleams in the dim light of the room. “Hmm…I don’t know…” He slides a devious look over at Steve. “Are you sure I should be making such a/ big decision/ without consulting my Alpha?”

 

Steve rolls his eyes but can’t help but snicker. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and kicks the chair up on two legs as he stares incredulously at him. “For real?”

 

Bucky slides the medal between his lips and grins.

 

Oh, he is going to *enjoy* this.

 


End file.
